


mine -- immaculate dream, made breath and skin

by flowersforgraves



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-Canon, minor homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Sex and feelings.





	mine -- immaculate dream, made breath and skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zinc_carpenter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinc_carpenter/gifts).

> [Come Undone - Duran Duran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Epj84QVw2rc)
> 
> A late treat, because I fell asleep writing it.

Connor can't take his eyes off Murphy as he leans against the railing. Murphy taps the ash off the end of his cigarette, pretending he doesn't know Connor is watching, and aching to reach out for his twin and draw him into a kiss. 

This isn't new. This is anything but new, because Connor and Murphy have been locked in synchronous orbit since they were born. They've been at each other's side and at each other's back since they can remember. They've learnt and grown and come of age together, because that's almost unavoidable when you're twins, but they don't separate. Not now, not ever. They've tried everything together. Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, sex, murder, cross-country road trips -- there's probably more.

"Take a picture," Murphy says, voice low. "Lasts longer."

Connor tears his gaze away from his twin's mouth and looks him in the eye. "I want you," he says, blunt and straightforward. 

"Fuckin' coincidence, I want you too," Murphy says, dropping his still-lit cigarette off the balcony and into the puddle of rainwater in the alley, five stories below. Two steps and he's in kissing range, and Connor can no longer refrain from touching his brother. 

Murphy's breath is warm against Connor's mouth, and Connor lets out a tiny noise before he can stop it. He's half-embarrassed, but secretly grateful to be able to feel Murphy smile against his skin. "All right there, Conn?"

"Fine," Connor mumbles, pulling Murphy in closer and kissing him hard and with teeth.

Murphy uses that as an invitation to bite down on Connor's lower lip, startling a gasp out of him, shamelessly exploiting Connor's surprise to his advantage. He gets a knee between Connor's legs, and Connor can't help whimpering. The reaction does nothing but make Murph even more smug, tangling his fingers in Connor's hair to hold him in place.

But Connor knows his twin well enough to push the right buttons, and it's not long before their positions are reversed -- Connor pinning Murph to the wall, hands slipping under his shirt, teeth on his collarbone and lips tracing scars. Murphy melts under it, soft and pliable and half in subspace, and Connor whispers, "Good boy," while Murphy clings to him. 

And then it's skin on skin, hot breath and gentle kisses, teeth and lips and tongue and fingers. They're desperate, both of them, having sex against their fucking back door, but Murph is making needy, breathless sounds and Connor doesn't want him to stop. "Conn, Conn," Murphy mumbles, trying to keep Connor close, "want you, need you."

"Need you," Connor repeats, kissing him hard. Murphy responds, opens his mouth, lets Connor take control. "Mine."

"Yours," Murphy says. "My brother. My twin."

"Yours," Connor agrees. "Yours and no one else's."

"Thank fucking Christ for that," Murphy says, slurred with arousal, eyes half-closed and trying to stay coherent.

Connor slaps him across the face. It's gentle; Connor would never hurt Murphy intentionally, even with something this small, and growls, "Lord's fuckin' name, Murph," deep in his chest.

Murphy goes limp, all the tension drained from his body as Connor's palm hits his cheek. "Please," he whispers. "Tell me what to do."

Connor tips his chin up, claiming Murphy's mouth with tongue, and pulls back to say, "Fuckin' get off on me, Murph, go on, if you're that desperate. I'm not gonna stop you."

Murphy whimpers, wordless begging for something Connor's not denying him. "Conn," he whines, hips jerking helplessly forward. "Conn, please," and Connor shoves his thigh between Murphy's knees, their jeans sliding against each other and highlighting the way Murphy's cock is straining against the fabric.

"Gonna come in your fucking pants, Murph?" Connor asks, breathless and still unable to stop touching his twin. 

Murphy moans again, louder, so Connor puts a hand over his mouth. "Do you want our neighbors to know how fucking needy you are? How much you want my cock?" Connor's voice isn't nearly as steady as he'd like; Murphy isn't the only one desperate for sex and physical touch. His voice hitches at the end, and he pulls Murphy's hips closer, needing more friction on his own dick. "Murph," he whispers, almost involuntarily, "Murph, Murph, come on, come for me."

With a bitten-off moan, Murphy does, fingers digging into Connor's shoulders and leaving nail marks even through his tee shirt. "Conn," he breathes as the orgasm drains from him, and Connor comes too, shuddering. 

Murphy slides down the wall, legs gone wobbly, dragging Connor down with him. Connor goes easily, collapsing onto the floor. "Murph, come here," he says, tugging his twin's hand. "I want to hold you."

Murphy makes an undignified noise, scooting over to lay his head on Connor's chest. "We're gonna be sticky," he says, muffled against Connor's shirt. 

"An' you're not going to do shit about it," Connor says, tangling his fingers in Murph's hair. "Pretty little cockslut."

Murphy whines, hips pushing forward despite having just come minutes ago. "Don't, Conn," he says, "I can't get off again so soon."

"Me neither," Connor says, shifting to get more comfortable. "Murph…"

"What?" Murphy asks. "What do you want?"

Connor kisses him, gently this time. "Want you," he says.

"'S fuckin' queer, Conn," Murphy says. He's tired, drifting between awake and asleep.

Connor yawns, pulling Murphy closer. "You're fuckin' queer," he retorts, the sharp edge of the words dulled into something more like fondness. "And I'm not the one who likes cock."

Murphy throws an arm around his brother's waist. "Fucking lie, and you know it. You love sucking my dick."

"It's not queer if it's you," Connor says, suddenly sobering. The teasing tone drops away; he's deadly serious. "If God doesn't like it then He shouldn't have made us together."

"Yeah," Murphy says, settling closer. "I know." He's serious too, arms tightening around Connor. They don't often talk about their faith in this context, but sometimes it happens whether they want to or not. "I'd rather be in Hell with you than Heaven alone."

"Me fuckin' too," Connor says, and kisses him. 


End file.
